You question Brockner some more.

"We're not going anywhere unless you tell me what's going on!" you say.

Brockner sighs weakly. "We must get off the street--"

"Is that big dude after you? Are you some kind of criminal?"

"Please," Brockner pleads, "I'll explain. Just--"

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" a loud voice commands. You spin around. A group of people in white hazmat suits and breathing masks are marching down the street in your direction. Leading them is a person in a yellow suit. He (for the voice was male) has a bullhorn to his mouth.

"Don't resist," Brockner warns.

You stand up and put your hands in the air. "Where am I?" you call out. "Who are you people?"

A slim figure separates itself from the main group of hazmat people. This person raises a rifle and aims it at you. Before your brain can even formulate a reaction, something stings the side of your neck.

You reflexively slap at the sting. It's a small dart with a fuzzy end. Tranquilizer, no doubt. 

"Tried to warn you," Brockner says thickly. You look down at him with blurry eyes. Your head spins.

A clatter of footsteps, impossibly loud. Your senses feel magnifed, distorted. You take one swaying step and WHAM! You're face down on the asphalt next to Brockner.

Hands begin to grope you as your sight grows dim. Your last thought before things go dark is that you could really, really use a cup of coffee right now.

Roll a pair of six-sided dice. If the result is 7 or 11, follow the first branch. Any other result, follow the second branch.

The End

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